


Just a Taste

by millygal



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Loving the evil, Multi, Vampires, willow can't resist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 04:21:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10689654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: All he wanted to do was leave that body filled message, how did he end up here?





	Just a Taste

**Author's Note:**

  * For [echoes_of_another_life](https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoes_of_another_life/gifts).



> Well hell, you know how I hate WIP's, lol!
> 
> Guess who's just written part one of a Willow/angelus fic which will eventually turn into a Spike/Willow/Angelus fic?!?
> 
> This one however can't be written in my usual manner which is head down arse up all in one, lol. I think I'm gonna need a breather in between chapters ;)
> 
> Thank you to miss stir_of_echoes for her beta and encouragement and the bunny that bit me in the first place!
> 
> It's been almost fifteen years since I wrote any Buffy 'Verse fic, I thought maybe I'd be a bit rusty but actually, Angelus and Willow were always my face pairing, I think I'm doing okay with it, lol. Although still VERY nervous at sharing!!
> 
> Oh I am SO listening to my two Buffy soundtracks right now :D

This was _such_ a bad idea.

Willow can’t even begin to vocalise how much of a bad idea this was, and yet here she stands, bathed in moonlight, waiting for something that may well get her killed, or worse.

As per usual when her logical brain throws out a truly idiotic plan, she’s the last to know about it, or maybe she chose to ignore the big red flashing siren that went with this particular scenario.

Or _maybe_ she’s just sick and fucking tired of being seen as the predictable one.

Willow is the safe Scooby; rational, reasonable, easy to get along with and even easier to steer in the direction Xander, Buffy or Giles want.

She is so far beyond the point of irritated with how her friends see her that she’s currently willing to risk her own life in order to prove she isn’t, in fact _predictable._

So, she’s stupid then.

Or at the very least, she’s taken leave of the senses that would usually stop her from creeping into a graveyard after dark and flaunting her neck cleavage.

Well, she’s here now, and if she read the invitation right, there’ll be a vicious little toy surprise waiting for her over by the Alpert Crypt.

Her mind might be made up, but her feet haven’t apparently gotten the Memo yet because they’re refusing to move.

Looking down at her sneakers, Willow squints and points. “Come on feet, you’re kind of integral to this plan.”

Laughing quietly at her own insanity, Willow peers into the shadows being thrown off of the grave markers surrounding her, and listens for any tell-tale signs of life, or unlife.

Nothing, yet.

Forcing herself to move forward, Willow tries to ignore the little voice inside her head, sounding remarkably like Giles, that’s telling her she’s a moron.

As she sneaks through the gravestones; grotesque monuments to the dead with their seemingly innocuous weeping angels casting horrifying shadows and shapes that dull her eyesight and send her heart rate into the stratosphere, Willow contemplates turning back before she ends up beneath one of them.

Nope, not gonna happen. She _will_ follow this through. She may even be able to go back to the gang and tell them she’s gained valuable intel' on the psychopathic vampire trying to kill them all, or she’ll end up a treasured memory. Either way she’s not chickening out.

Straining to hear anything other than her own laboured breathing, Willow catches the rustle of clothing and spins on the spot.

Nothing.

Okay, maybe he’s playing games with her.

Or she might have read the invitation wrong.

Except there’s no conceivable chance that this particular invite could have been construed in any other way than the intended.

Digging around in her pocket and pulling out the note, struggling to see the dark lines etched onto the paper in her hands, Willow stares for the thousandth time at an image of herself. Or the self she could be if she stopped worrying about being proper and polite.

She’s not sure if it’s the way her eyes are glazed over, or the wildness of her hair. Perhaps the sheen of sweat clearly visible on her bare chest, or the pertness of her nipples as a set of long more than capable fingers tweak them, that’s got her indulging in a scheme that will inevitably lead to death or dismemberment or excommunication from her group of friends.

Willow’s heart is racing and her palms are tacky as she carefully re-folds the paper before sliding it back in her pocket.

She’s about to move out from her spot, hidden beside the Alpert Crypt, when she feels a shift in the air around her and is hit full force with a scent so delicious it makes her mouth water.

Even if she’d never fantasised about the man now standing behind her, Willow would have committed that particular aftershave to memory because it speaks of decadence and danger. She was always curious as to why Angel chose to wear it, when it was quite clearly something that Angelus would have enjoyed.

Willow thinks there was more Demon in Angel’s personality than even Buffy realised.

“Hey, Red. Didn’t think you’d have the guts to come.”

The small smirk curving Willows lips upwards is inexplicable even to her, but she turns slowly and is faced with a vision in leather and sarcasm and realises if she is about to die, at least she’ll be doing it in style. “Got your invitation, figured I’d see wh-wh-what you wanted.”

The stammer in her voice gives away just how terrified Willow truly is, but Angelus has to give the little slip of a girl credit, because the scent of that fear is being slowly but surely overpowered by something much more enticing; arousal.

She’s got good taste.

Terrifying and twisted, but _good_.

There’s barely an inch between the two people standing in the shadow of the crypt, but neither one is capable of moving forward nor backwards.

Angelus wants nothing more than to sink into Willow, fangs first, but he knows any sudden movement, and she’ll take off running and never come back.

Willow can see what Angelus is thinking, it’s written all over his chiseled face, but she can’t make herself flee. Not when she’s come this far and not when she can feel a tightening in her lower abdomen that’s sending silent shockwaves along her nerve endings.

There’s something unique about Willow’s scent. It speaks of candy-floss and coconut body-butter, all so sweet and cloying, but beneath the everyday, is a flash of bitterness laced with want and need and frustration. It calls to Angelus the same way Drusilla did all those years ago.

It begs him to strip away the layers until he finds the _real_ Willow Rosenburg.

He’d simply intended to kill her, maybe fuck her first, ruin her in a way no mortal boy could, then leave her naked body on Buffy’s front steps as a reminder that he can take whatever he wants, but Angelus finds himself unable to pounce. He’s too intrigued as to why the little redhead even came.

Closing the gap between them, Angelus lays his hands on Willows shoulders and leans down, taking a big fat audible lungful of her, before levelling his gaze on her pale beautiful face. “So, fancy meeting you here. What exactly told you it was a good idea to accept an invitation from a crazed killing machine?”

Willow shudders beneath Angelus’ grasp but refuses to avert her eyes from the menace flashing behind his. “I f-figured that you’d been sneaking peeks at me in the shower, h-how else did you manage to draw me so accurately?”

Despite the stumble in her words, Willow’s got some balls, and it forces a laugh from Angelus that shocks both of them.

Letting her go and stepping away, Angelus grips the tops of his thighs and allows the sound of his mirth to echo back at him, bouncing from gravestone to crypt to tree until it fills his head and brings something he hasn’t felt in a long time; real amusement.

Willow watches Angelus crease up and is simultaneously proud and completely terrified.

She’s pretty sure that being able to gain a genuine laugh from a creature like Angelus isn’t something she should have written on her list of life goals, but the way his eyes sparkle with humour, and not a single hint of the soul previously tethering him to his guilt and shame; it’s addictive.

She finds herself wishing she could do nothing _but_ make this man laugh.

Willow wonders if Angel ever laughed like this at anything Buffy said and realises that she’s already separated the two personalities. Something her best friend’s been struggling with since her honey turned. “You really aren’t Angel, are you?”

Chest still rumbling with laughter, Angelus straightens up and pins Willow with a look that could strip the panties off every cheerleader at Sunnydale-High. “No. I’m _not_. Thank the Devil.”

Willow tilts her head and listens intently for the threat in Angelus’ voice, but there seems to be none, which isn’t possible because this creature is a killer. Cold blooded and black hearted. “What _are_ you?”

Angelus can’t stop the wry smile forming, and he finds himself leaning nonchalantly against the crypt wall. “I’m free.”

The vampire doesn’t know what it is about this girl, woman, but she seems to quell the urge to rip and slash. It’s still there, still waiting just below the surface for when Angelus needs it, but with her curiosity comes a sense of calm.

Nodding towards the ground, Angelus strips off his duster and lays it at Willows feet.

She stares at the coat for a moment before looking at the vampire like he’s lost his mind, but still she lowers herself down onto it. “We h-having a picnic now?”

Angelus huffs out a laugh that makes them both look up in surprise. “I don’t know what we’re doing. You know why I asked you here, don’t you?”

As Angelus lowers himself down next to Willow, she suddenly remembers what the hell it is she’s doing and makes to stand, only to be caught around the wrist by cold fingers that exert just enough pressure to let her know running would be a _bad_ idea.

She remembers being told in class that it’s never a good idea to flee at speed from a predator, it simply makes them want to chase. “You wanted to k-k-kill me. Use me to get to Buffy.”

There’s no question in Willow’s words, which brings a new-found sense of being more than a little impressed with this seemingly shy girl. Angelus nods once and tugs almost gently on her wrist. “Exactly.”

“Then w-why haven’t you?”

The stutter irritates Angelus, but he doesn’t understand why. This makes his answer sharper than he originally intended, and it forces his Demon to rise. “I still _could_ , little girl.”

In the second it takes for Angelus to flash his inner angry puppy, Willow weighs up her options; Run like the fucking wind and hope to make it to a safe place before he snaps her neck, or stay and see how this plays out. Neither one brings with it much of a guarantee of continued breathing, but her curiosity is getting the better of her.

She takes a moment to study his face, his true face, and feels herself reaching out. Her hand rises as if to trace the line of his forehead, to see what the bumps feel like beneath her fingers, but she snatches it back and clasps it in her lap.

The Demon stays but from between his tightened drawn back lips Angelus hears himself snorting.

Completely ruining the effect of the killing machine he’s wearing on his features, the sound startles Willow, and she leans backwards, putting as much distance as she can between her and the animal sitting next to her.

This angers Angelus, more than he’d like and not for the reasons he expects, but there’s no way he’s going to admit to being offended by her fear. “If I wanted you dead, Willow, you’d be dead. Actually, you’d be panting and sweaty, _then_ you’d be dead.”

The women Willow will become is slowly forming in her thoughts and she blurts out the first thing that comes crawling into her head. “You think you’re so hot. What is it with vampires? Heightened sense of manliness or maybe testosterone poisoning? We don’t all wanna fuck you, ya know.”

Angelus’ vampiric features shift from menacing to shocked swiftly followed by impressed as hell. “ _Want_ is a relative term where vampires are concerned, Will, and when did you get so smart mouthed? You do realise I could break you with my pinky, right?”

The use of Buffy’s nickname for her brings Willow up short. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“No, you shouldn’t, but - “, Angelus leans sideways and rests his head on Willow’s shoulder, which forces an all over body shiver from the redhead now trying desperately to control her breathing, “You are, so you might as well enjoy the experience.”

Damping down the urge to scream and crawl away, Willow uses a single finger to force Angelus’ head off of her shoulder. “And again with the smug. I am not fucking you. And you aren’t going to kill me.”

Angelus moves at lightning speed, pushing Willow against the coat they’re both sitting on, before laying his body across hers. “I’m not, huh? And why’s that?”

Ignoring the heat pooling in her belly and making her legs fall open, allowing the vampire to slip between them, Willow stares Angelus down. “Because you _like_ me.”

He’s about to make some cutting remark about not liking pathetic little redheads, if only to cover over her scary insights into how his mind works, when he hears a twig snap four crypts over and is hit with a familiar scent. “Shit. Move.”

Ignoring Willows glazed expression, Angelus rises and drags her with him. “Company’s coming.”

She hears her best friend before she sees her, but as Buffy rounds a particularly large gravestone, Willow is forced to her knees and dragged backwards behind the crypt.

“Here vampires, come out come out wherever you are. Seriously, how’s a girl ‘sposed to get her hurt on if no one’s around to, ya know, hurt?”

Angelus slams his hand down on Willow’s mouth and raises his eyebrows, making it plainly clear if she so much as squints in Buffy’s direction, she’ll be deader than a dead thing.

Willow nods beneath the hand covering her mouth and fights the urge to let her tongue creep from between her lips. She just wants a small taste, but that taste might cost her a lot more than she’s willing to lose right now.

As Buffy continues to talk to herself, Angelus wraps an arm around Willow’s waist and lifts her off her feet before sneaking away as quietly as he can.

Why exactly he cares if they’re caught, considering he wanted to hurt Buffy so badly he could taste it; the vampire has no clue.

He can still taste it, it burns his throat and makes his Demon sit up and roar. Yet Willow’s warmth against his chest as he runs away from his foe, makes Angelus’ inner beast quiet down, just for a moment.

Choosing not to analyse it too closely, Angelus makes it to safe minimum distance and unceremoniously dumps Willow onto her feet.

Willow almost topples onto the ground and is caught by strong hands.

Ignoring the burning of her skin as it remembers what it felt like to be held by Angelus, Willow throws an accusatory look at the Vampire now steadying her. “I don’t _get it_. If you wanted to hurt her, that was the perfect opportunity. Why - “

Angelus growls, Demon face still visible. “I don’t know. Just, go home, little-tree, before I change my mind.”

Turning and stalking into the darkness, Angelus pretends he doesn’t hear Willow’s disappointed sigh following on his heels. “Stupid redhead. Should just have snapped her spine.”

Willow watches Angelus disappear into the tree line before spinning and heading towards her house.

She can still feel his weight pressing her into the ground, and she knows without a shadow of a doubt, she is screwed, screwed to all hell. “What have I done?”

********

Willow’s been staring intently at the same page of _Demons: An Encyclopedic Knowledge_ for the last twenty minutes. Fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the edge of the paper which is old enough to have been read by her great-great-great Grandmother.

It’s only Giles’ more than slightly put out voice that drags her attention into the present.

“Willow, I’ve managed to stop that book from falling to pieces for the last fifteen years. Could you possibly _stop_ trying to shred the page, please?”

Shaking herself, attempting to force the feeling of Angelus’ body atop hers from her mind, Willow plasters a suitably sorrowful look across her face. “Sorry, Giles. I Got a little distracted.”

“I dare say. Anything I can help with?”

The Watcher’s sympathetic eyes make Willow feel like the worst kind of human being. It also makes her want to throw herself at his feet and confess to everything that happened last night, but she knows if she does, the chances of seeing Angelus alone again will be slim to _he’s a dead vampire_.

Buffy would literally spread his ashes across the graveyard, let alone what she’d do to her best friend.

“No, nothing major, just random braindeadness.”

Speaking of Buffy…

Her best friend wanders into the library followed by Xander.

“I so can.”

“You so can’t.”

“Says who?”

“The laws of physics and the need to breathe, and probably throw up.”

“Physics schmysics. I _can_ eat fifty fishsticks in five minutes. Tell her, Will.”

Willow can’t help her grin at Xander’s expectant puppy look. “Sorry, Xand’. The gatorade I’ll give you, but the fishsticks thing, no way.”

Xander steps up next to Willow and pins her with an appalled look. “Traitor.”

Chuckling at Xander’s offended huff, Buffy smirks and nods at Willow before wafting her hands at the boy now sulking in the corner. “See, told you. Stop pouting, you’re seventeen years old; it’s not becoming.”

“But it’s cute, right?”

“You wish!”

There’s something comforting about hearing her two best friends bickering good naturedly. It makes Willow feel like she _hasn’t_ just betrayed all of their trust.

Turning back to the almost ruined book she’s still cradling, Willow attempts to stop the words swimming on the page in front of her, when she hears Buffy pulling out the chair next to her.

“What did you do last night, Will? We missed you at the Bronze.”

It takes all of Willow’s lack of sneaky abilities to not faint. She’s so not suited to this whole subterfuge thing. “N-nothing. Homework.”

Buffy tilts her head and studies Willow. There’s something off about her redheaded friend, but she can’t quite figure out what. She seems like she’s not really in the room, head somewhere else entirely. “We take all the same classes, what homework?”

Willow panics, not having thought the lie through, then she remembers Buffy’s hatred of all things extra credit. “Computer lab work, extra credit. Early college points, ya know?”

Buffy shudders and grimaces. “Ack. You’re a trooper, Will. I’m lucky if I scrape a C in History. Speaking of, study session tonight? Help me not be the next employee of Hotdog on a Stick!”

Willow giggles and nods before closing the book in front of her. “Sure thing, can’t have you matriculating with the class of losers, 1999.”

“You’re a star.”

*************

Willow watches Buffy trying to puzzle out the question and feels for her friend. The ability to grasp complex information has always come so easily to her that she forgets, school isn’t as easy for some.

The some in question right now is scrubbing her hands through her hair and trying not to wail in defeat. “I dunno, Will, the Confederates decided they didn’t like the Unionists choice in uniform? Argh! I suck. I’m never gonna pass this class.”

Willow closes her book then leans across the bed and flips Buffy’s shut as well. “Maybe we should take a break, Buff. It’s not like the final is tomorrow.”

“No, but I am considering ordering that Hotdog on a Stick outfit. Early enrollment might get me better shifts. I gotta book anyways. Patrol.”

It takes every single ounce of Willow’s will power not to flick her eyes to where Angelus’ latest note sits on her desk, hidden beneath a huge pile of textbooks. “Hoping to catch him with his pants down?”

“Already did that, now we have ourselves a homicidal maniac to deal with.”

Willow’s torn between the image of Angelus sans leather pants and the laughter bubbling up in her chest at the flippant tone in Buffy’s voice. “Well, have you tried fucking the soul back _into_ him?”

“WILLOW! When did you get so filthy?”

“About the same time I started having naughty wrong feelings for a certain brunette who doesn’t know I exist. I figured if I started acting and sounding like Cordelia, I might get what I want.”

Buffy stands and cricks her shoulders, working out the stiffness hanging over a book for three hours has brought. “Let me know how that works out for you, and me; I’ll go and fuck Angelus in a different way. Thanks for the help, Will.”

“Welcome. Stay alive.”

“I’ll try.”

**************

Willow sits quietly on her bed, lights off, fingering the paper with Angelus’ lilting scrawl on it.

No elaborate drawings or sex filled images adorn this note. Just a simple sentence. “Tonight. Your place. Make sure she’s gone.”

How exactly Angelus managed to get the letter beneath her French doors or the fact he knows Buffy was due to be here, eludes Willow, but she’s not entirely sure she’s even going to open the door to him. Hence the lights being off and her sitting like a statue atop her covers.

What is she doing?

If Buffy ever found out about this, she’d be mortified and so hurt. Willow must be completely insane, but the smell of Angelus’ aftershave still clinging to the clothes she was wearing last night makes it almost impossible to be sensible, or loyal.

Every little sound is making Willow jump about six feet from her bed, but she’s determined to still her racing heart, if only to stave off the pulmonary embolism she’s about to suffer. Who knew death by vampire didn’t necessarily involve fangs?

She’s about to start undressing and give up any hope of the vampire knocking on her door when she hears a low whistle followed by one heavy tap against the glass in her doors.

Taking a deep breath, Willow steps up to the doors and flicks her curtain to one side.

Standing bathed in a light that only enhances his wicked good looks, is Angelus. Tapping his foot impatiently and rolling his eyes.

Angelus knows Willow’s looking at him, but he’s refusing to acknowledge her, not when she’s got him turning up to her doorstep like a lost puppy and is making him wait for entrance.

How the fuck did he end up here?

All he’d wanted was a way to fuck with Buffy’s head. Now he’s seriously contemplating wooing Willow bloody Rosenburg.

He’s lost his mind, his whole damned mind.

How exactly does a sadistic killer woo a seventeen-year-old girl, especially one so good and sweet? Drusilla was a masterpiece in sadism. Driven crazy by his _affections_. But Willow is different, so very different. He wants her mind whole and unbroken.

Her body is another thing entirely.

Finally, he hears the click of a lock and is greeted with a waft of Willow’s heady scent. It’s just as intense and delicious as he remembers; fear, sweetness, need.

“Y-y-you ca - “

“STOP!”

Angelus shocks himself with the vehemence of his statement.

One word shouted so loudly he thinks he’ll wake up the entire neighbourhood, but Willow’s stutter is irritating the hell out of him. If he wanted her dead, she’d be dead. Why she continues to be nervous is a mystery, and it pisses him off beyond words that she can’t see what it is he’s putting himself through just being here.

Willow steps away from the door, knowing the un-invite spell is still in place, meaning she’s safe enough, for now. “St-st-stop what?”

Angelus’ demon rises and he slams a palm flat against the barrier keeping him from wrapping his hands around the redhead’s throat and choking the stutter from her. “That, _that_. Stop stuttering at me, little-tree. There’s no need. I know you’re braver than you show the rest of the world, braver than those pathetic friends of yours see. **Act** it.”

Where there would once have been serious amounts of fear there is now anger, good old-fashioned ire bathing Willow’s mind in a cleansing sense of righteous fury.

Stepping up to the barrier, nose mere millimetres from Angelus’ hand, Willow narrows her eyes and hisses at the vampire still growling at her. “Oh you have _got_ to be kidding me. You do realise I’m putting **everything** on the line here, right? I’m meeting with the man who fucked my best friend then turned into a sadistic murderer. If I stutter occasionally it’s not through fear of YOU it’s because I feel like a fucking failure as a friend. Either you wind it back or I shut this door and tell Buffy every single thing that happened last night.”

The sheer force of Willow’s anger knocks Angelus back, physically makes him stumble away from the barrier. “You wouldn’t. She’d be just as pissed at you as she is at - “

“She’d forgive _me_. You’d be dust.”

Willow’s too busy breathing hard against her annoyance to hear it at first, but finally the sound filters through the rage still gripping her mind; Angelus is laughing and _clapping_.

**Clapping!**

“What the fu - “

Leaning an elbow against the barrier still very much in place, Angelus allows his face to show exactly how much Willow’s anger is turning him on. “Little-tree, I knew you had it in you. Want something else in you?”

Willow tries not to giggle at Angelus’ lame line, but she finds herself creeping as close to the barrier as she can without breaching it.

Smirking and raising an eyebrow, Willow tilts her head and huffs out a laugh. “Does that line ever work for you?”

“Until tonight, I’ve had a zero refusal rate, keep in mind though I rarely need permission, little-tree. People tend not to get chance to walk away.”

“People? You mean you don’t care if they’re male or female?” Willow finds herself taking one step too far and is suddenly outside the barrier to her room. It’s only Angelus’ eyes narrowing that alerts her to what she’s just done.

Panicking and making to step backwards, Willow’s too slow and is caught around the waist by the vampire now leering down at her, practically snapping his teeth at her exposed throat.

Finally having her in his arms allows Angelus a moment of peace before he realises it’s now or never. He either hooks her in, or she’ll find her moral compass, and it will be pointing anywhere but at him. “People, little-tree. I’m not particularly fussed which parts go where, as long as there’s a pulse and chance to dance. I'm game."

Coming unbidden into her mind is an image that Willow’s been ruminating on for some time but has never had the guts to ask anyone about. “Do you and Spike… ”

Angelus’ face breaks into a lascivious grin as he leans down, eyes pinning Willow in place. “Regularly.”

Willow’s eyes close and she groans. A noise so deep and guttural it shocks both her, and the vampire holding her, but she can’t help it. The idea of Spike and Angelus together makes her entire body break out in gooseflesh.

Shuddering in Angelus’ arms, Willow’s only vaguely aware that he’s now growling, low and menacing. It’s a sound full of the threat of violence.

“Over my dead body, Willow.”

She can’t help herself. “You’re already dead, _Angelus_.”

Pushing his face, now in full demonic visage, as close to Willow’s as he can, Angelus allows his breath to ghost against her lips as he hisses at her. “And so will you be if I _ever_ catch you anywhere near Spike without my permission. Got it?”

Willow realises too late how close to dead she is; standing in Angelus’ arms, allowing him to have any kind of hold over her or tell her what she can or can’t do. She’s playing with fire, and she’s going to end up burning down her entire life.

If ever there was a breed that would turn on its owner…

Struggling against Angelus’ vice like grip, Willow tries in vain to get away from him, but it’s too late. He has her.

He’s not letting her go, and if she’s honest, she doesn’t really want him to.

Slamming Willow backwards, butting her back up against the barrier to her room, Angelus presses in on Willow, moulds his body to her curves, stooping and grinding his hips into hers, making her toes curl and her breath come out in short sharp pants. “It’s no good trying to run now, little-tree.”

There’s a tiny part of Angelus that if Willow really wanted to claw her way out of his arms, he’d probably let her, but he can scent her need on the air. It’s surrounding him, drowning him, filling his lungs with the very real want pouring off her body, and he can’t take it anymore.

For a creature so used to taking whatever he wants whenever he wants it, the restraint he’s showing for Willow is unheard of, and he has no clue why he’s showing her any kind of deference, other than the thought that she might hate him stings, it burns him.

Still struggling against Angelus’ grip, Willow strains to look him in the eye before making sure he knows he doesn’t hold all the cards. “Hurt me, I go to Buffy. Got it?”

Angelus appreciates the strength it takes for Willow to threaten the use of her best friend as a deterrent and shows her the respect he think she deserves. “I’ll only hurt you if you ask. Deal?”

Willow only manages _De_ before Angelus swoops, smashing his lips, still pulled tight, fangs flashing beneath them, against her mouth.

Willow’s vaguely aware that she can taste blood and doesn’t know if it’s hers or his, or both, which is terrifying, but the kiss is so visceral she can’t bring herself to pull back.

As their lips meet and bodies meld together, still using the barrier as a brick wall to hold them upright, Angelus’ face morphs back into that of the man, and he pulls away. “Spit.”

“Wh-what?”

“Spit. If I wanted you a vampire, I’d have turned you last night. Spit.”

Willow does as she’s told before Angelus wipes her mouth, smearing blood across her cheek. “Better. Now, where were we?”

The feel of Angelus’ tongue lapping at the remnants of the commingled blood coating her cheek makes Willow shudder and groan, and she knows, wholeheartedly, that this is going to be a hell of a ride.

She just hopes they don’t crash and burn everything down around them.


End file.
